


Something Rational

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Ambiguous feelings on Kise's part, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He was as much a rock fixed against the weather as Kise was the river - rapids and undulating tides and all the uncertainties of nature itself. Kise felt he had pressed himself against Aomine so much he was eroding away, and this morning he had woken up to someone of completely different sediment.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Kise blurs the boundaries between stranger and friend, friend and lover. Aomine is done trying to distinguish what Kise won't define.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Rational

Kise sat at the center of his rumpled bed. A pair of sleek leather pants were molded to his hips, shoulders slipped into an undershirt. One golden eye was shaped like a cat's by thick black liner - the other was completely naked, save for a smudge underneath where he had whipped his head toward Aomine and jabbed his cheekbone with the pencil.

"I know he’s gay,” he asserted confidently, “just not for me. I’m not standing out to him. People have _types_ they’re attracted to, superficially, and you only get attention if you match that type,” he explained. “We breeze by anyone who doesn’t possess the first few traits on our bucket list. But if I could find out what he likes, then I would be on his radar, easily." Kise balanced the pencil between his middle and index fingers, wagging the utensil in the air like a see-saw. Aomine watched the nervous flight of Kise's eyeliner in semi-absent disinterest, sprawled across the bed and yawning off the twelve-hour sleep from last night. Half his body was entangled in Kise's comforter, sheets roped around one leg like the fin of a mermaid ensnared by a fisherman's net.

 

Last Friday, Kise had been staring at his cell phone indecisively for an unhealthy percentage of an hour. He kept opening his contact list, hovering his thumb over _Kurokocchi,_ and then closing the tab in a never ending cycle of self-doubt. A carnival was camping for a day down by the waterfront. Kise noticed the fliers stapled to the trunks of power lines and immediately envisioned creaky roller coasters, blue cotton candy, dart contests - and Kuroko, small and quiet and pretty against towering rides and noisy crowds and popcorn-littered streets.

There was no way; Kuroko wouldn't say yes without a signed and delivered permission slip by the Lord Himself. Kise didn't happen to have God's email address anywhere on hand (when he lost it was debatable; sometime between puberty and high school’s exploration of his sexuality), so Kise wasn't expecting much divine interference right now.

Yet, there was that small smile Kuroko would give Kise - during lunch, in math, watching videos in a darkened lab room on the chemical bonding of noble gases - and that smile was hope incarnated, liquefied and injected into every vein connected to his heart. His body had become addicted to that dry hope Kuroko spared so rarely and so achingly. It wasn't that Kise wouldn't give up; it was that he _couldn't._ It was a symptom of Kuroko’s kindness, and it felt like searching for a needle of promise in a haystack of polite insincerity.

Kise braced himself for finding more straw, sucking in a breath and thumbing _Call._ He considered hanging up prematurely on the fourth ring and trying this again via text, where he wouldn't have to worry about masking any upcoming disappointment. Kuroko answered then, though, and there was a panicked second where Kise debated hanging up anyway.

"Hello, Kise-kun," Kuroko greeted, soft and proper. His serene voice relieved the shallower tension in Kise's shoulders, his nerves a tautly stretched rubber band that Kuroko mercifully snapped from his fingers. Kise settled atop the edge of his bed, nervously fidgeting his fingers before sitting on his hand.

"You answered!" Kise cheered, staring at the ceiling as if his eyes could burn right through the roof of his house, into the sky, and find Kuroko lying on his own bed, in loose pajamas, Kise’s voice pressed to his ear.

"Yes,” he assented. Kise waited for more, but the line remained silent. Clearly Kuroko was not hindered by the typical press to bolster conversation. A gentle easing into Kise’s proposal, then, could be discarded, along with any tact he might’ve built from Kuroko’s contribution. He remembered the haystack with the needle, how every careful pluck of straw revealed only more straw. Which, to Kise, meant throwing caution to the wind and cannonballing into the hay.

"So-I-saw-this-flier-for-a-carnival-at-the-waterfront-and-I-was-like-'doesn't-Kuroko-like-rides-and-stuff?'-and-I-also-like-rides-or-at-least-I-get-bored-on-the-weekends-sometimes-because-it's-on-Saturday-by-the-way-so-I-figured-it'd-be-mutually-beneficial-if-we-went-together-like-at-the-same-time-so-yeah-do-you-want-to-go?" Kise recovered with deep, gulping breaths.

Kuroko didn't respond promptly, but he did respond within the standard allotted time still considered appropriate. "I don't think I'd have the time," declined Kuroko, finished with his verbal ellipsis. "I have summer classes for Honors English."

"You don't even know what time the carnival is," Kise argued, a slight whine enunciating his syllables.

"I also have two summer reading books to catch up on."

"We still have two and half a months!”

"I read slow." Kise could hear the shrug over the line and felt indignation clawing up his throat before being drowned by rejection.

"Kurokocchi!" Kise drew out in a fine display of futile pining. He actually wasn't expecting anything out of crying further - he was going down, but he was going down swinging.

"I'm sorry."

Well, that was just a lie.

"Hmph." And only because not doing so would be a red flag for harsh feelings that would linger long after the call, long after the summer, did Kise offer a very curt "See you later, Kurokocchi."

He jabbed _E N D C A L L_ , cutting off Kuroko’s goodbye.

He underwent his usual Stages of Handling Rejection (penned by him during physics class, edited during Japanese Lit., and typed and uploaded onto LiveJournal soon after arriving home). The first step was numbness, which lasted a blissful three minutes before giving way to indignant fury that had him passive aggressively pointing out he was very attractive and likable over family dinner. That phase would fade into sadness that pressed down on his chest like a cinderblock throughout the night. The next day he would scrape off the surface pain as if with a butter knife, like he would the blackened crumbs off a burnt piece of toast. He was prone to hooking up with any decent-looking acquaintance during this stage, as well as shutting down anyone who made an advance, for the sake of feeling in power over his romantic life.

The decent-looking acquaintance last week was a dark skinned boy five inches shy of Kise's height. He was a junior who acted every bit a freshman. That was precisely the reason Kise had chosen him - he was safely unappealing. He could show him around the town, buy him some food, flirt in between, and if he was a good boy, maybe let him feel him up a little. When the day was done, he could send the kid home with no hard feelings. Kise would return to the normalcy of a free, fast life with no expectations of commitment from a boy half his stature and twice his emotional detachment.

 

Yesterday, he had played against Aomine on the court for five hours. It had begun at three o'clock, when the buzzing of insects simulated a packed arena and Kise could pretend the shouts of children from the nearby playground were for him. He took big gulps of water in the first hour, until the bottle was too warm to be refreshing and he forgot all about the importance of hydration while playing Aomine. By eight o'clock the air was moist and itchy from mosquitoes. His tongue was sandpaper and his heart thrummed in his throat, constricting his breath.

"I'm done," Aomine announced, letting the ball he had just shot into the hoop drop unclaimed to the ground, rolling toward their bags in a low dribble.

"What," Kise wheezed, shoulders bent over his knees. His bangs tickled his face and he jerked his head from the agitating sensation. "It's not even dark yet," he complained. He forced each word from his throat like he was rolling a boulder up a hill: panting heavily.

"Sorry." Aomine scooped up his water bottle, downing the entire container till it crippled in on itself, the plastic crinkling obnoxiously. He threw it back on the grass. He clasped his hands together, twisting them behind his back, pulling the knots out from under his skin like springs uncoiling in a mattress. He grunted, cracking his neck.

He smirked at Kise, a languid curling of the lips, smug and tired. "You're not looking too hot. Think if we went any longer I'd have to carry you home." He tossed over Kise's bottle, which had five swigs left to it at best.

Kise caught and finished it off. He laughed, drips of water missing his mouth and swimming down his chin. He swayed and landed on his knees. He could feel some soreness now gradually kicking in, like he was being beaten up in slow motion. "You might have to carry me home anyway."

"That so?" Aomine grinned, turning his attention away. He crouched down, shoving their water bottles and basketball into his drawstring bag. Then he removed his black undershirt and stuffed that in, too. "Fuck, my face feels on fire," he muttered, tying the bag closed.

Kise eyed the sweat droplets that meandered down the muscles of Aomine's back. It was like watching rain pattering on a gorgeous, fit windowpane. "You _do_ look hot, Aominecchi," Kise agreed, giggling.

Aomine swung the bag over his shoulders and swaggered toward Kise. "Alright, pretty boy, let's deliver you to your parents." He hoisted Kise into his arms.

"What are you doing," squealed Kise, instinctively grabbing onto Aomine's neck.

"You can't walk, remember? You're crippled," Aomine answered obviously. He looked at Kise, who was smiling with those perfect, piano teeth, lashes long and dark above the shimmer of his eyes. Aomine grinned lopsidedly.

"Fine," consented Kise. "Good luck walking all the way there with an extra 170 pounds." He relaxed, settling his head on Aomine's shoulder to give him the full effects of his weight.

"Like carrying air," Aomine lightly replied.

Aomine’s arms were saved from collapsing halfway to his house when Kise's cell phone rang and he needed to be let down to dig out his phone. "What's up, Mom?" Kise brushed some fringe from his eyebrows as he planted a hand on his hip. Aomine idly tucked his chin into the crook of Kise's neck.

"Hey baby, I'm going to be a bit late tonight," informed his mother. He could hear workplace chatter from the other line.

"How come?" Kise asked, on the fence between concerned and excited.

"Ah, Yousuke made too many people go home early. It was dead a couple hours ago, but now it's busy because a concert's on at ten and people want to eat somewhere nearby before it starts. I swear, he never looks at the schedule and never knows what's going on.

“So, long story short, I'm staying overtime to help the poor management out with the floor."

"They should make you the boss."

"They should!" She exclaimed, then sighed. "Anyway hon, I'm probably not getting home till around twelve, unless they can get enough people to come in off their shift. You'll be okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he assured. His eyes flittered to Aomine resting on him. "Oh hey, can Aominecchi stay over?"

"You mean the night?"

"Yeah."

"I suppose. Are his parents okay with it?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ask them?" she asked wryly.

"Um, I can?"

"Yeah, you do that," his mother quipped. "If they're fine with it, I'm fine with it."

"Yay! Thanks, Mom!" Kise cheered.

"Whatever. Just don't burn the house down, please."

"I'll warn Aominecchi."

"You think I'm joking. I don't want him near my kitchen, especially after what he did to my oven last Easter."

"I said I was sorry!" Aomine interjected, bending near the phone's receiver.

"Hello, Daiki," Kise's mom greeted, unamused. "Anyway, kids, I need to hang up. Have a good night."

"We will, Ms. Kise!"

"Fantastic," and she hung up.

"So." Aomine disengaged himself from Kise. "I'm staying over?" He grinned widely.

Kise tucked his phone in his shorts pocket, simpering underneath the duck of his head. "I guess so." He nodded his hair from his face, resuming their trek to the house.

Aomine buried his hands in his pockets. "Your dad's still in Tokyo, right?"

Kise scoffed. "Or somewhere equally not around."

Aomine raised an eyebrow.

Kise rolled his shoulders. "I don't know, the last time I spoke to him was when he called, asking if I liked guys because he wasn't home a lot."

Aomine sniggered. "Yeah?" he prodded.

"I told him I also liked girls, so the problem was that he was home a _decent amount._ Too absent to be straight, too present to be gay," explained Kise. He motioned to the gym bag. "Need my keys."

Aomine shrugged the bag off, handing it to Kise. "Is that how bisexuals are born?"

"Mm, you bet," murmured Kise, lifting his keys.

"How are pansexuals born, then?"

"Sporadic visits from Daddy," he deadpanned.

"I see. Asexuals?"

Kise gave him a critical look. "Stupid. All asexuals are orphans." Aomine chuckled and observed the beginning reaches of a sunset. The reddening sky framed the sun like chopped strawberries around a slice of pound cake.

They arrived at the yard, two trimmed bushes on either side of the patio and a magazine arrangement of wicker furniture atop polished board wood. Aomine ignored the "Don't touch" flag sprouting from the recently treated grass, cutting across the lawn behind Kise, whose hair seemed bright enough to match the sun right now, under the pastel of the sky and the quiet of his uptown neighborhood. Kise smiled at Aomine at the top of the porch, lips pink and expression sweet.

"You know, I'm kind of in the mood for strawberry shortcake," Aomine yawned, stretching his back. Kise pushed the door open, stepping inside the living room.

"I don't think we have that," he said breezily. "I hope you're not tired," he added suggestively.

Aomine closed and locked the door behind him, a habit he picked up from living downtown. He kicked off his sneakers, letting them land near the suede recliner angled by the flat screen. "Your bedroom has a rejuvenating quality to it. Let's see if it wakes me up any," he proposed.

Kise pouted. "My bed gets more credit than I do. Of course it does," he bemoaned.

"Maybe it's the wall paint," Aomine mused, closely following Kise up the stairs.

"It's _white!_ " Kise squawked indignantly, shocked.

"The satin bedspread?"

Kise pivoted at the second floor, trapping Aomine on the last steps. "Maybe it's the person _in_ the bed." Kise paused, confusion suddenly coating his expression, furrowing his brows. "I don't have satin bedding."

"Whoops," apologized Aomine, averting his eyes in mock guilt. "That must've been someone else's - " Kise interrupted him with a slap to the shoulder.

"Shut up, who would let _you_ in their bed?" Kise challenged, still barricading the second floor.

Aomine shrugged. "People of many fabric preferences, I guess."

"Doubt it," rebuked Kise, moving from the staircase to his bedroom. Aomine grinned and chased after.

Kise awoke in the morning to an orchestra of birdsong outside his window and the aftertaste of unfulfilled desire in his chest. Yearning threaded itself into a heavy cloak and blanketed Kise's body, like a too-tight hug from a toxic friend. Kuroko, small and cruel in kindness, appeared, by default, in his mind. Touched and in bed with someone far more accessible than him, it was hard for Kise to distinguish if Kuroko was the reason for his loneliness or an over-expired excuse.

Kise needed a shower. Feeling like this, he needed his coordinated outfits and glitzy make up to, at the very least, _look_ like he was ready to face the world. He found physical appeal was the strongest armor there was against an ugly, vulnerable inside.

An arm caught his waist before his feet could press the carpet. "Aominecchi?" Kise frowned.

"Whereya goin'?" Aomine slurred, face obscured by a pillow.

"Bathroom?" Kise answered, unsure how to react to a tactile morning-after. Aomine yanked him back down, curling Kise under his armpit.

"Wait. We can go together," Aomine mumbled.

"That's, um," Kise floundered, "not...happening?" He struggled to free his chin from under Aomine.

"You're warm as shit," Aomine said right in Kise's face.

"Oh god, oh hell no," Kise coughed, shoving back from Aomine's acrid breath. "Get off, you asshole," he grunted, "you stink!"

Aomine grabbed Kise's hair, yanking him forward so his nose was almost engulfed by Aomine’s mouth. "Oh, my bad," he exhaled, elongating the syllables.

"Ugh!" Kise scrambled backwards and tumbled off the bed.

"K.O.," Aomine sleepily declared, drawing forth the empty blankets and cocooning himself.

 

Kise spent the better part of two hours in the bathroom as Aomine invented new and increasingly interesting ways to straitjacket himself in Kise's sheets. Kise moped in the shower for 45 minutes, applying shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in slow, haggard movements. While scrubbing shampoo into his skull, he lost the motivation for what may have been ten minutes and just drooped his head against the tile dejectedly. While blow-drying his hair, he contemplated what he was lacking in. By the time he was applying foundation over the bumps of his skin, he was considering his chances of hooking Kuroko if he changed little things about himself Kuroko didn’t like. The waking noises of Aomine jerked Kise’s focus off lining his eyes, and Kise skidded out of his conjoined bathroom to pounce atop the wrecked bed.

“Maybe it’s how I look!” Kise blurted, appearing less like he had discovered new insecurities to fret over and more like he had just found plausible circumstances for cold fusion. “Maybe that’s what Kurokocchi doesn’t like! I’m not - _tan_ enough, or _bulked up.”_

Aomine groaned, tugging his short hair. “Ryou, this is stupid,” he criticized.

“Maybe I’m not _tall_ enough,” continued Kise.

Aomine rolled his eyes. He was not going to _spitball_ Kise’s flaws. "Your height is fine, okay? Get any taller and we'll need a ladder to see your face.”

"Like Muracchi?" he giggled.

Aomine's eyes widened, voice aghast. "He has a face?" He glanced at the ceiling in awe. "I thought he was just a walking, purple curtain,” he whispered.

"That can play basketball?"

"The government is highly advanced, Ryou. Underestimate their capabilities, wind up dead. You've seen the movies."

"Oh god, you're fucking stupid," Kise laughed.

"Don't be a sheep for the government," Aomine warned. Then, with a nasally inflection, he baah'd like a sheep.

Kise's laughs turned to guffaws that rocked his figure. Then suddenly there was a snort. His palm flew to his mouth, aghast. Aomine raised his eyebrows. "My bad, sir. I shouldn't have accused you of being a sheep, when you're clearly of pig heritage,” he snickered.

Kise walloped his chest. "Shut up, you asswipe!”

Aomine's fingers pulled the tip of his nose upward, flaring his nostrils. He gave two snorts.

"Yup, yes, you're a jackass. Officially.”

Aomine released his nose, feigning offense. "'Jackass'? I've been listening to you bitch about your boner for Tetsu for like, five hours -"

"You woke up at twelve!"

" _Officially,_ I deserve an award. For being generally amazing at friendship."

Kise scoffed. "Sure, I'll print something special out for you later."

"See, now, you're being sarcastic, but ink is expensive, so I'll consider that an honor."

The conversation lulled, with Kise staring vacantly into space. Abruptly, then, he lurched forward and perched over Aomine, arms indenting the mattress on either side of his shoulders like pillars. “Hey, Aominecchi. What type of guy am I?” Aomine almost squirmed. There was a strangled desperation in the searching of Kise’s eyes, in the pleading lilt of his voice.

“Fuck if I know,” Aomine grumbled into the pillow. “You’re a model,” he elaborated, gruffly, “you’re everybody’s type.” With an embarrassed grimace he added, “That’s your job, anyway.”

Kise protruded his glossed lip in a pout. “I’m not doing a very good job, then.”

Aomine rubbed viciously at his face in exasperation. Maybe if he rubbed _really hard,_ he’d tear the skin off his face and Kise would be forced to pay attention to him long enough to drive him to the hospital. “Just stop _thinking about him_ ,” Aomine ordered. “Tetsu’s not the kind to react; it has nothing to do with how attractive you are. Give this bullshit a rest.” He sat upright, stretching out his back and finding less knots than usual. Kise’s bed was probably what angels slept on when they weren’t out protecting prodigy children from running into traffic or communicating with FOX News reporters.

Kise drew his knees up as Aomine readjusted. He reached out to the sheet coiled up Aomine’s leg and began unwinding it. “That’s the problem, Aominecchi. It takes a lot to get a reaction out of Kurokocchi.”

Aomine was vexed. “Why do you _care_ so much?”

“I don’t _know!”_ Kise’s tone was unintentionally sharp in his petulance. “I just _do,_ okay, is that enough for you?” He fixated himself on unfurling Aomine, projecting his interest elsewhere. He hated when people questioned why he felt this, thought that. His emotions were fluid, changing shape day by day, sometimes by the hour. He never bothered stopping to reflect, because there was rarely anything to reflect on. His feelings were will-o-wisps: fast and light as the air they took flight in - impossible to catch. He fell in love by chance; never seriously, never with intent to cherish longer than the time it took for night to mute the romance of day. Kuroko was another one of his mercurial fancies - as substantial as the glistening of water when it caught the sun’s reflection. Kuroko had piqued his interest, and Kise didn’t mind things like _why_ or _how._

In truth, there was only one difference between Kuroko and any other fad Kise latched onto: when night should’ve overshadowed all past allure, Kise was lying in bed and thinking of Kuroko. And when morning erupted into a new day, Kise was seeing the exact same sky he saw when he fell in love with him. Kise’s affection for Kuroko was reminiscent of a pop song; no matter how much substance it lacked, the lyrics were planted in his head - springing forward at the mention of a word, inspiring the swing of his hips, the bob of his head.

“No, it’s not, actually,” Aomine decided. Kise looked up at him. “Because you have been fucking worshiping the sidewalk Tetsu spits on since junior high, and he’s given you nothing in return. Forget _boyfriends,_ Ryouta, he isn’t even a fucking _friend._ ”

Kise blinked in surprise, lips moving without words, like he was gnawing on food he couldn’t identify. Eventually, “I think we’re friends.” He contradicted without much intonation, suddenly feeling a lot like he was lost in a new city without a map.

“Yeah?” countered Aomine. “Name how he has let you in, in any way,” he challenged. “What do you know about him, that’s not school or basketball? Has he ever admitted _anything_ to you, ever talked about the shit he does at home, what his family is like?” Kise remained quiet. Aomine gritted his teeth. He threw up his arms. “Fucking Christ, you don’t even know him!”

“I don’t need to!” snapped Kise. “That’s what crushes are about! _Wanting_ to know someone!”

“Crushes don’t last this long! Want to know _why?_ Because people _get_ to know their crush! They learn shit about them, and they either move on, or fall in love! _That’s_ what lasts, Ryouta, _love._ Not bullshit crushes,” Aomine finished.

Kise narrowed his eyes, unclenching the blanket. “Then what am I feeling, huh?”

“I don’t know, _obsession?_ ”

Kise gasped, affronted. “That’s what you think of me? I’m a stalker to you now?”

“Oh my god, _Ryouta._ For once in your freaking life, _calm the shit down._ I’m not calling you a stalker. I’m just,” Aomine fumbled, not confident at all he was managing this conversation. “ _You’re always thinking about him,_ ” he stressed. “I know you think you and Tetsu are super shitting close or whatever, but you’re _not._ Your thoughts are 24/7 occupied by someone you don’t even know anything about. Doesn’t that sound obsessed to you?” he prompted, staring at Kise helplessly.

Kise’s face welled with tears as Aomine gazed at him expectantly. Aomine’s blue eyes trapped him like sapphire-forged handcuffs, burning Kise’s flesh with another question Kise could _feel_ , but couldn’t decipher.

Aomine finally spoke the question, which smacked against the tension in the air like a lightning bolt and abruptly ceased the storm-like atmosphere, till all was as hushed as a graveyard. “Were you thinking of him last night?”

Kise’s lips parted and jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” he asked delicately, poised with a restrained antagonism. He pronounced each word with deliberate clarity. “Are you accusing me of thinking of Kuroko _while we fucking had sex?_ ”

“No,” Aomine spat. “No, you are _not_ turning this on me. You don’t get to play the fucking victim, Ryouta. Not right now, when I am asking you a _goddamn question_ that - ” Aomine faltered. The scowl of his mouth fell as his wrath dissipated. Pain pricked behind his eyes, his hands curling into fists on the mattress. Regaining himself, “ _that matters._ ” He swallowed the cement block chafing his dry throat. The strength of his voice had shrunken. “Matters to me a lot,” he admitted, redirecting his gaze to his lap.

Kise simply breathed for a while. Aomine had never rose his voice to him; never averted his gaze. Aomine was steady. His temper did not fluctuate, his mood never reached Kise’s capricious extremes. He was as much a rock fixed against the weather as Kise was the river - rapids and undulating tides and all the uncertainties of nature itself. Kise felt he had pressed himself against Aomine so much he was eroding away, and this morning he had woken up to someone of completely different sediment. “Daiki,” he eventually began, patient, “I don’t think of anyone when I’m with you. I couldn’t see Kurokocchi if I tried,” he chuckled nervously. It felt strange, almost intrusive, to bring Kuroko into this conversation, even though he was at the center of it. Like this was such a private moment that his name alone was dissonant.

“Then why is he the first thing on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” Kise answered honestly, softly shaking his head. “Habit?” He suggested, smiling weakly.

Aomine laughed, the ends of his lips curving into a sneer. “‘Habit,’” he repeated, like it was remarkable or funny. He reclined on the headboard, pillowing the back of his head against his crossed arms. He composed himself as he looked upward at Kise’s ceiling. “You know, Ryou,” he drawled, “I’ve got a habit, too. I listen to this guy cry for years about my best friend, despite me being _head over heels_ for him, because, I don’t know, I must get off on it or some shit  - and I pretend like it doesn’t kill me to watch him chase after an asshole who couldn’t give two shits, like I’m not bothered that he comes to me for advice with someone he hopes to replace me with - and, when he’s lonely or unhappy or just bored, I take him home and fuck him as good as I can, because he’s deigned that my job and _I like the work_ , Ryou, I _really_ do.

“So, I’ve gotta ask you, whose habit do _you_ think is nastier? I mean, at least I’m getting table scraps from my addiction. But _god_ , it is _so fucking harder_ to kick a habit once you’ve got a taste. What do you think of me, then? Do you think I’ve got it good, with you? Do you think I’m feeling a-fucking-okay, being strung along?”

Kise didn’t know he had been crying until a tear stroked his cheek. He hoped Aomine would notice, would feel guilty and back off. “ _I’m so sorry_ ,” he whispered. He minutely registered that, though he had never suspected Aomine’s feelings, though they were wholly unexpected, he wasn’t the least shocked by them, nor did he determine them as out of place. Aomine’s confession was something unimagined and at the same time unimaginably normal. “I didn’t know I was doing that to you, I hate that I hurt you by being stupid. I mean, you’re my best friend; I care about you.”

Aomine’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled, sitting up straight. “Ryou,” he engaged wearily, “you’re not my best friend. You never were, you never will be. Okay?”

More tears streamed Kise’s face, cold as Aomine’s words.

“You’ve always been more to me,” continued Aomine. “I didn’t hang out with you like I hung out with our friends. You’re stupid for thinking I did, ‘cause I never even hid my intentions. Unfortunately, you don’t recognize emotions unless they’re dressed up and paraded around like it’s fucking Halloween.

“But, I’m going to be realer with you right now than you ever were with me - maybe even with yourself. I can’t pretend we’re friends. We’re not friends to me. Your boundaries between _friendship_ and _love_ are screwed up, evidently, and I’m not waiting around any longer so you can screw up my boundaries too. I _know_ how I feel about you. I don’t think you know how you feel about me. Or Tetsu.”

Kise drew in a breath that quivered in his lungs. He had the sensation of a puzzle board smashed on the floor, pieces disconnected and scattered. “Okay,” he said thickly. “Um, I don’t know if that means you want to a take a break from this,” he gesticulated vaguely, “or just, uh.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking a break,” Aomine clarified, voice tight.

Kise nodded.

A still moment passed; then Aomine was dismounting the bed and pulling on his shirt. Grasping the doorknob, Aomine looked back over his shoulder. “Try not to agree to any two-on-twos’ with Kagami or Tetsu, if I’m coming. I’ll be avoiding you.” The door clicked shut in its frame, Aomine on the other side of the threshold. Kise traced Aomine’s footfalls on the stairs, through the main floor, and out his house.

  
  
  
  



End file.
